


Fairest of Them All?

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Tail Kink, non human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:25:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson needs to integrate who he was with who is, or so they tell him he is. The best way to do that is obviously standing in front of his mirror, naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairest of Them All?

**Author's Note:**

> Jackson is pretty messed up here and he engages in questionable behaviour with his tail. I'm really not sure what to tag this but if that creeps you out, this is not the fic for you.

Stiles: "Well, you've got a tail."  
Jackson: "What does it do?"

 

Jackson was familiar with standing in front of his mirror. Obviously he uses it to make sure his hair is behaving. He’s stood here before dates checking his outfits. When his abs started looking like abs and not just a vague suggestion he used to spend hours in front of it shirtless and flexing. He’d never stood naked in front of it, not deliberately. He’d never persuaded Lydia to let them fuck in front of it either.

His parents were out. His door was locked. The blinds were shut firm against any spying eyes. Jackson could feel his heart beat faster, his breathing quicken as he pulled off his polo shirt and dumped it at the foot of his bed. It wasn’t like getting ready for bed, standing in front of the mirror and watching. His shoes joined the t-shirt and nausea churned in his belly. He was going to do this. He was going to see if he truly was the monster the others claimed.

The jingle of his belt, the harsh scrape of his zipper. Sounds seemed magnified beyond normal. His heart was a drum kit and his pulse the base line. His jeans slid off, denim that should be soft rough against his skin. Sweat pooled at the base of his back. Jackson took a moment. Surely that was enough. He didn’t need to take the final step and slide beyond what might be normal into territory that he thought was reserved from freaks like Stilinski probably.

Stiles had said he had a tail.

Jackson didn’t look at himself as he slid his boxers off, tossed them onto the pile of all his clothes and stood there. It was an effort to raise his eyes, to look in the mirror. The figure he knew from the shower, from the locker room looked back at him. Nothing creepy. Other than the fact he was standing naked in front of a full length mirror, arms just dangling by his side. Jackson turned to check there was nothing on his back. No tail.

Just one more look. One more check. He was human. They were lying. Whatever Derek had done when he bit him, it was… Jackson’s breath caught as scales rippled down his cheek, green, black, brown, blue. His hand wasn’t the same hand he wrote, drove, jerked off with anymore. Claws tipped his fingers, black lined and dripping. Jackson felt the blankness in his mind start to take over, to wipe him clean into some tabula rasa for someone else, someone who had control over him to order him to kill and maim and punish those he thought worthy. And Jackson yearned for it. He wanted the trust and affection and the company of someone else.

He tore himself away from the mirror, afraid to watch any more. Stiles had been right. He was a creature. He wasn’t human, he wasn’t a wolf. He wasn’t faster and stronger and better. He was going to fail. And that thought burned in him. It burned away the blankness, the loss of control. It burned away the cage he could feel being constructed around himself. Jackson was stronger than them.

He looked in the mirror again. Scales rippled across his chest, his thigh, glinting in the light of his beside lamp. He was half lizard, half a person and wholly himself. A chain reaction set off within his skin and he could feel the rush of power and speed and the hunger burn low in his belly. Something wasn’t right here but Jackson didn’t care as he watched his dick twitch, fill, rise up heavy against his belly. His hand – the one without the claws - wrapped around it, stroked and pulled like he’d done since he knew what his dick was for. Behind him his tail lashed, a whip cord of alien terror and part of him he wondered how he ever did without.

His tail. What could it do, other than strike fear into the hearts and minds of anyone stupid enough to stand against him and his master? Jackson dropped to his knees, thighs spread wide. He leaned forward, yearning for a better view, unable to look away. His beautiful tail drew in the air, circles and spirals and arcs that left sparks in their wake. It felt good. Free. He was animal like, crouching, hand still stroking as scales rippled in patterns and paths across his body, the way Lydia had stroked her hands across him. But she had been wanting, demanding as much from him as he asked from her. This was love. This was him and who he was meant to be.

Jackson threw back his head. It felt so powerful, the wave he was riding like a good California boy. His tail curled around him, joined his hand in its usual sweep and twist. It was his and under his control and yet it was wild and untamed and that was just as good. Jackson knew he shouldn’t want to do this but he spread his knees even further apart and finally brought his claws to the carpet, not caring about tears and rips. His tail acted without conscious direction. It slipped off his dick, leaving his hand, and trailed in the air above him before the tip – just the tip – teased at his ass.

Lizards had cold blood. Jackson remembered that from bio. Lizards didn’t turn into good boys who captained (co-captained, his traitor brain reminded him) the lacrosse team to Championships. If lizards had such cold blood, why did it feel like he might boil inside his skin if he didn’t let his tail slip inside him, let it fuck into him, redouble and redouble as it carved its space inside him like it had always belonged?

Jackson screamed as he came, spilling over his blur of a hand, body fracturing and being rejoined as new and better. Kanima. He landed on the floor facedown, too exhausted to move more than his eyes, tracking the swirl of his tail in the mirror. Aftershocks traced the path of his scales until he was nothing more than Jackson, lying in a pool of his own come, on his bedroom floor, on a Saturday night, alone.

Kanima. His tail. His claws. His scales. Jackson blinked as his eyes stopped being the yellow and green, pupil slit like he was expecting and became blue again. He felt like he was losing, again, as his heartbeat quietened beyond his hearing. And Jackson was sure he was no loser.


End file.
